


Free Fallin' For You

by Phoenix_Fire_22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Subways, but not really?, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 02:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18540430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Fire_22/pseuds/Phoenix_Fire_22
Summary: Stiles is overworking himself during the hot NYC summer to help his and Scott's bar become their dream. The stress of it finally puts himself at risk just in time to embarrass himself in front of Derek Hale, the fellow subway rider he's been trying to woo for weeks.Because why wouldn't that be his luck?





	Free Fallin' For You

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this like 2.5 years ago, and have had it on tumblr for 2 years and completely forgot about it until I was going through my posts, so I thought I'd put it on here as well.  
> It was a completely random idea had one day when it was unbearably hot and then it turned into this. It's very much a one-shot and the ending may be a little weak, but I tried! lol Sorry for any typos! Also sorry for that weak description! Hope you enjoy anyway :)

It was hot.

Unbearably fucking hot.

Stiles was sticking to his sheets and the sun hadn't even risen enough to shine its hot death rays through his window. They predicted it to be the hottest week in the city and they weren’t wrong. That’s not to say other years haven’t been hotter or that it wouldn’t get hotter than this, but going from eighty-something-degrees to nearly one-hundred was ridiculous.

Who let’s this happen, honestly.

With a groan, he peeled himself out of bed and headed for the coldest shower he could possibly take. Which sucked because he lived for hot showers.

Fucking nightmare.

It didn’t help that he’s been getting home late from work everyday. Leaving no time to eat anything that counted as an actual meal or to sleep for any length of time that could be considered anything other than a long nap.

“ _Gah!_ Fuck!” He yelped as the cold water hit him. The only thing keeping him from turning the nozzle the other way was because he knew stepping out of the shower into muggy humidity wouldn’t make things any better.

Within fifteen minutes, Stiles was showered, dressed, and heading out the door. As he was locking the door he realized he hadn’t even eaten anything and banged his head on the door.

Whatever, he’ll eat when he gets to work. And the sooner he gets to work the sooner he could embrace the air conditioning. He just had a twenty minute subway ride and then sweet sweet coldness.

Fuck.

The subway.

“Ughh. Kill me.” He moaned as he stepped into the elevator of his building realizing the subway was a torture chamber on a good day.

The only good thing about it was the hot business man who got on the same stop as him. His name was Derek Hale and he only knew this because he spent a week trying to get a glimpse of the mans work ID badge that hung off his briefcase. He still had no idea what he did though. All he knew was that he was six-feet of hotness.

Albeit, a bit grumpy. Trust Stiles to try and engage him in a conversation once or twice.

Okay _fine_ , he tried every day.

Derek never took the bait with anything other than a simple ‘ _Hello_ ’ or head nod besides the time Stiles introduced himself and he responded with a surly “ _Derek_ ” which was a little lame considering Stiles creepily already knew that. Derek, however never moved away or actively avoided Stiles, so that was something. It was only time.

On his way, his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Taking it out of his pocket he checked the caller ID before answering the call.

“Scotty! What’s up?” He answered.

“Tell me you’re wearing a suit.” Scott pleaded.

“Of course I’m not wearing a suit.” Stiles responded casually as Scott groaned.

“Stiles, Lydia is going to kill you!”

“Yeah well it’s eight-million degrees outside. Plus, we own a bar, Scott! What kind of uppity douche bags do you want us to look like running a bar in a _suit_?”

“It looks p-”

“Professional. Blah blah blah. We serve the good people what they want, they don’t care what we wear. I mean, it’s not like I’m showing up in basketball shorts. Why are you jumping on this suit thing anyway.”

“Because, Stiles, we have potential investors coming in at some point today and Lydia thinks it shows that we’re reliable and a good investment. Yeah, maybe it’s over the top compared to what we’re used to, but she’s not wrong.” Stiles huffed in annoyance.

“You’re killing me, Scott.” He said, pulling on the collar of his shirt. Why the fuck was it so hot.

“At least tell me you’re wearing something decent.” Stiles gasped.

“How dare you. I’m always wearing something decent.”

“I meant for Lydia’s standards.”

“I’m in jeans and a black button down. Which lord only knows why I’m wearing black on the hottest day in existence. Also, remind me again why Lydia’s say matters here? We started the bar, we own it, we run it. All she did was help design it!” He loved Lydia, he really did, and as much as her intelligence in the business world helped them out, he was not having it today. A suit. Yeah, right.

“Well,” Scott said hesitantly, “That seems okay to me.”

“Of course it does, Scott. Listen, I’m almost at the 1. I’ll see you later.” Stiles said, starting to feel the effects of his mini outrage as the heat started getting to him even more.

Scott and Stiles owned a bar named Lunar that they opened right out of college. They would have opened it sooner, but they promised their parents they would graduate first. Not only did they graduate and get a degree, but they worked full-time as well so they could have the money to open the bar when they were done.

It seemed like a spur of the moment decision, and to be honest, it kind of was. They wanted to open their own business since high school, but they didn’t know what. When they were finally able to legally get into bars, they were never really satisfied. From that, they wanted to open their own but with their own spin on it. They’ve only had it opened for about a year now and while they’re not booming with business, they have a ton of regulars and they’re bringing in a lot more than their parents had expected.

The only problem is, they want to do more with it. They want to be able to set up video games, because who doesn’t want to get drunk and play Mario Kart while making new friends. Duh. They want a better alcohol supply, because alcohol. They want a mini bowling alley, a karaoke stage, a shot wheel, flat screen television screens. Multiple. You name it, they want it. And you can’t do more if you don’t have the right kind of money. Which is where Lydia and investors come in to play.

It’s also why Stiles has been busting his ass working non stop from seven in the morning to seven at night. Scott comes in at five to take over, but Stile stays to help with the after work crowd before leaving. He comes in early to get the paper work ready for when they open at eleven. Which doesn’t take that long, but then he likes to take his time setting up so he’s not rushed. Then he ends up rearranging things trying to make the place better, which he mostly ends up moving back. He also uses that time to try and come up with new plans for when they revamp the bar. Which they hopefully get to.

He then works a full shift during opening hours until seven which he then leaves to work at an all night grocery store until one in the morning. It’s a shitty job, but between the bar and rent he’s trying to get as much money as he can.

Which, besides wanting to build on the bar, it’s another reason why Scott and Lydia are so persistent about getting an investor. Because three hours of sleep a night after constant work is draining Stiles and they can see it and they hate it, but Stiles won’t listen to them any other way.

He blames the ADD.

They blame his stubborn attitude.

His father, the traitor, is on their side.

So this is why he’s baking in a subway terminal waiting for his train downtown. So he can head to the bar and start yet another morning. Usually, he doesn’t mind it. He loves the bar. The second job, not so much, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.

He pulls on his shirt collar again, the stuffy heat feeling like it’s wrapping its disgustingly warm fingers around his throat.

“Where the fuck is fall? I’ll even take snow at this point.” He mumbles to himself, ignoring the look he gets from a passerby for talking to himself.

He looks around and to his dismay, he doesn’t spot Derek anywhere, which is a damn shame because that was always a great way to start his day. He does one more, not creepy - (“ _No, Scott, god damn it. It’s not creepy! You’d stare too if you saw this man. Stop judging me or I swear to god._ ”) glance around. With a small shrug of acceptance he moves closer to lean against one of the pillars willing the train to get there quicker because usually, he gets the one with air conditioning and that is something he so desperately needs at the moment.

He doesn’t even care how dirty the pillar must be, because he’s suddenly finding it hard to keep his eyes open. Exhaustion and heat are a terrible combination. As he stands there, he feels himself getting hotter. He opens his eyes, which he hadn’t realized had been closed for so long, to see more people in the terminal. He glances over at the marquee, blinking to try and get focus on the digital red numbers, to see his train is delayed another eight minutes.

“Fucking great.” He says to himself. He glances to the other side and sees Derek standing there looking as brooding as he usually does and Stiles perks up because he’s got a game with himself to see what it will take to put a smile on that mans face. He hasn’t been successful yet, but you can bet your ass he’s not going to stop until he does.

Derek catches his eye and rolls his own because it’s too hot for Stiles and his quips.

But as Stiles turns to head Derek’s way, he falters, black spots clouding his vision and he only has time to think ' _Oh, shit._ ' before he’s free falling backwards off the platform.

He vaguely thinks he hears his name being shouted as his head slams against the tracks. Which would be fine if it knocked him unconscious because sleep would be really nice right about now.

Instead, pain reverberates through his skull, down his whole body and he groans. The shouts and gasps from onlookers not doing him any good at trying to open his eyes, because apparently he’s either drifting between consciousness or he’s blind from head trauma.

He _really_ hopes it’s the former.

He wonders if he has time to call his dad and say his goodbyes, but he dismisses that because even if he does, he can’t find it in himself to even move.

Which is why it’s weird when he feels a hand on his head because he knows that’s not his and he swears to god if that’s a rat and not a hand he’s fucking done.

“Stiles.” Talking rats. Just what New York needs.

“Stiles, open your eyes.” The voice demands and now he’s not only concerned that a rat can talk, but that it knows his name.

He tries opening his eyes, but groans as just the effort alone rips through him and he’s sure he has a concussion. Lydia is going to kill him.

“That’s it, come on, I need you to get up. Work with me here. I didn’t endure weeks of your shitty pick up lines to watch you become road kill. _Open your eyes._ ” It’s not the urgency that has him prying his eyes open.

His eyes slit open to a glare, aimed at one Derek Hale. “Sh-” he swallows, feeling the urge to throw up, “Shitty pick up…?” His head lolls to the side, “Best -ou’ve ever ‘eard. H’dare you.” He swears he sees a hint of a smile and he almost cries out in victory but any emotion Derek currently had was now replaced with intent.

“You’ve got to get up. _Now._ ” Derek lifts him slowly to a sitting position, leaning him against his chest as he goes to grip Stiles when Stiles catches a glimpse at Derek’s hand.

“-’re bleeding?” Stiles musters. Not sure if he’s even heard as the sounds from above seem to get more frantic.

Can’t they be quiet for five fucking seconds. His head his killing him. Have some respect.

“No, idiot. You cracked your skull open. I shouldn’t even be moving you, but we’ve got less than two minutes before we become a hood ornament.” With that, Derek heaves Stiles up to a standing position, his head lolling against Derek’s shoulder as he drags him over to the edge of the platform where there’s a couple of guys holding out their hands to help them up. Derek lifts him up enough for the others to grab him and before he knows it, he’s laying on the dirtiest floor ever as a bunch of people look down at him.

Is this what a bug feels like?

He panics for a second, because Derek is still down there and he’s too pretty to become a hood ornament.

But when he painfully whips his head up to look, Derek is being pulled up and it’s not long before he’s kneeling next to Stiles.

“Dude, your pants.” He grimaces. “So dirty.” His eyes start feeling really heavy and he’s tried for this long to keep them open but he doesn’t think that’s going to be a thing much longer. He jerks his eyes open as much as he can when he feels his head being lifted, material being shoved under his head before being laid back down. He squints in confusion -which isn’t much when he can barely open his eyes any more than a newborn fawn anyway- and sees Derek void of his blazer.

“I owe you so much dry cleaning.” Stiles forces out. That’s the last coherent thing he can process before darkness consumes him.

* * *

Stiles dreams vividly.

Not all the time, but when he does, he’s not always sure whether he’s dreaming or not. So when two bright headlights and the screeching sound of metal on metal heading towards him at ridiculous speed has him jolting awake in a panic, he couldn’t be more thankful.

He’s about to rip the blanket off because it’s summer, why did he even put it on, when he notices something sticking out of his hand, just as he hears his name.

“Stiles? Oh thank god.” Scott says, his voice heavy with relief.

“Scott? What-” He stops, taking in Scott's worried face, the fact that he appears to be laying in a hospital bed, “Hospital?”

“Do you not remember?” Scott’s eyes go so wide, Stiles thinks they’re about to pop out of their sockets.

Stiles looks around again, glancing down at the IV sticking out of his hand. Notices the giant bruise adorning his arm. That’s when the pain in his head comes back to him like an annoying woodpecker intent on making its way through his skull.

“I remember.” He groans, “I made an embarrassment of myself in front of Derek.”

“An _embarrassment_? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus Christ, Stiles, you could have died. I’m not even talking about you trying to paint the train with your insides,” Stiles winces. Gross. “You were malnourished and dehydrated when they brought you in. I told you working that other job was going to kill you.” Scott throws himself down heavily into the chair next to Stiles’ bed he had previously been occupying, “I didn’t ever want to think I’d come close to being right about that.” He finishes quietly and Stiles feels terrible.

“Scotty, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t do it on purpose I’m just really trying to make this thing with the bar work out for us.”

“That’s why Lydia is helping us find investors. So it will work out. So you don’t have to kill yourself working twenty-four-seven.” Stiles moans, which just intensifies his headache. He brings a hand to his head had Scott hits the call button.

“Lydia’s going to kill me. You should head to the bar so you can meet with them.” Stiles suggested.

“Stiles, it’s ten o’clock at night. We had to reschedule. Allison and Erica are running the bar for us.”

“So does that mean you can meet with them without me?” Stiles smiles hopefully.

“I should make you meet with them alone as punishment for having to call your dad and almost give him a heart attack from three thousand miles away.” Scott deadpans.

“Oh shit” Stiles groans looking around for his cell phone.

“I didn’t call him until after we knew you’d be okay. I mean except for the concussion part. So he’s freaking out and I had my mom talk to the doctor so she could reassure him, but I told him I’d make you call him once you were awake.” Scott says, tossing Stiles’ phone to him. “I’m going to get some coffee, no you can’t have any. Call your dad. I’ll be back.”

“Daddy-O!” Stiles went for cheerful and innocent as his dad picked up the phone, though he was sure it was a bust as his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

“Stiles,” His dad sighed in relief at hearing his son’s voice, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Well, that seems counterproductive.”

“Stiles, I’m serious. I told you how careful you had to be when you moved to New York-”

“That was like seven years ago. I’m a seasoned New Yorker now! It was just really hot, okay? Subways are an oven. An evil, evil oven!”

“I’m talking about the not eating and not sleeping thing. Scott filled me in when he called me to tell me my only son was laying in a hospital bed. I have the airline information up on my computer right now.”

“Dad, I’m fine. You don’t have to come all the way here, I promise. I’m heading there next month anyway don’t waste your money.” Stiles argues.

“Don’t waste my money making sure my son isn’t trying to kill himself?”

“Dad, come on.” Stiles held a hand to his head, “I’m trying here.”

“Yes, I know, but you’re not alone. You have Scott. Allison, Lydia. You know I’d fly out there whenever you needed me to. The more you drain yourself putting everything you have into that bar, the sooner you’ll end up hating it.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Stiles said, not dismissively but because he could see his fathers point.

Stiles hung up with his father as the nurse came in to the room, with the promise of calling him as soon as he was discharged or if anything changed. As well as promising, begrudgingly, to text his father a picture every day for at least a week of proof he was eating properly. He supposes it’s karma for making his dad eat healthy all those years.

The nurse gave him a dose of pain medication to ease the soreness and headache telling him the doctor would be in shortly. Scott came back to the room in time for that to hear the doctor say he should stay home from work for at least the next three days. Wonderful. Luckily, he was told he could be discharged in the morning as long as his headache didn’t worsen.

* * *

After a week of not knowing what to do with himself, Stiles was finally cleared to head back to work. By Scott, mind you, he certainly tried to go in after three days but Scott wasn’t having any of that. He stayed home the first day, his body still trying to recover from all he put it through plus the added dramatics of almost giving himself a closed casket funeral. The next two days he showed up to the bar only to be forced out the door by Scott or Erica, mostly Erica.

The only benefit was that he didn’t need to work at the grocery store either, which Scott made him cut his hours down to two or three nights a week, since Stiles wouldn’t quit fully.

Stiles wasn’t even allowed to actually work today, he was only going in because the investors were scheduled to come in today at two o’clock and him and Scott were going to be there while Erica ran the bar until they left. So it was almost one in the afternoon and Stiles unfortunately had missed seeing Derek, which after a week of no eye candy was certainly soul crushing. Scott didn’t call him overdramatic for nothing.

When he stepped through the door, a wet rag whipped through the air at his head. He ducked but just barely missed it. “Erica, what the hell?!” Stiles exclaimed to the girl in question behind the bar.

“That’s for scaring us, asshole.”

“Love you too, babe.” He deadpanned, making his way to the back office where Scott was sitting with Lydia.

“Miss Martin, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Stiles mock bowed as Lydia rolled her eyes.

“I’m here to make sure you two don’t screw this up for yourselves.” Stiles gasped, putting a hand dramatically to his chest in mock hurt.

“The investors we were originally supposed to meet with cancelled on us, but Lydia had a backup and they were nice enough to still meet with us today, so there’s that.” Scott told him as he took a seat on the small futon they had in the office.

“Yes, and we lucked out because this company is bigger than the one we were supposed to meet with.” She said.

“So why didn’t we just meet with them from the beginning?” Stiles asked.

“Because they didn’t want to waste their time with a business as small as yours.” Both Scott and Stiles looked mildly offended at that. “But I called them again and explained the situation and used my amazing powers of persuasion and they agreed to send someone over.”

Which is why at ten minutes until two o’clock, when Erica came back to let them know their company had arrived, Stiles was not expecting what he saw when he exited the office behind Scott and Lydia. His mouth was gaping open, he was sure of it.

“Scott McCall?” The man questioned, reaching his hand out in greeting. Scott nodded, shaking the mans hand.

“Mr. Hale, thank you so much for meeting with us.” Scott turned to Stiles, lightly elbowing him in the side wondering why his best friend wasn’t moving.

“Stiles Stilinski. Co-Owner. Loves to throw himself in front of subway trains in his spare time.” Derek smiled softly, “Glad to see you’re doing okay.”

“Wh- but… Derek?” Stiles sputtered and Scott did a double take.

“Wait, _Derek_ Derek?” Scott said confused. “Oh man, you’re the one who saved Stiles’ life? Thank you so much!” Derek startled as Scott enveloped him in a hug.

“Okay, Scott, give the man some space, would you?” Lydia said pulling Scott from the man, “But really, Mr Hale, we really do appreciate what you've done. We’ll give you two a moment before we began, shall we…” She finished, dragging Scott behind the bar next to an amused Erica.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, finally having gotten over the shock.

“Weirdly enough, I was starting to miss the persistent guy from the subway hitting on me every morning. Figured I’d come by and fix that.” Stiles never thought he’d actually be able to get Derek to flirt back. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was in a dream.  
Or a coma-induced hell, since he could see Erica recording this out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re the investor? Oh, my god, you own Hale Industries.” Stiles said, pieces clicking together, “Why the hell do you take the subway?” Derek laughed.

“Despite having the money I have, I do try to maintain a normal life.”

“But, the _subway_ …” Stiles couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Yeah, I contemplated doing the pretentious thing and using a driver once it got hot, but then there was this guy and I kind of wanted to see where it went.”

Stiles gaped.

“Where it went? You ignored me for weeks!” He exclaimed as Derek blushed.

“Let’s just say my game isn’t as strong as I‘d like to think. My sister always tells me I get weird around people I like.”

“Wait, Me? You _like_ me? I think I might still be concussed. How are you here?”

“Apparently your friend called the company awhile ago, but for some reason they don’t put requests through unless they think it’ll bring in a certain amount. Which I think is ridiculous but my uncle can be money hungry so he doesn’t pass it along to my parents if he doesn’t deem it necessary. Fortunately, when she called again, him and my parents were on vacation, so my sister was in charge at the time. She was kind of hesitant in the beginning but your friend can be pretty persuasive. It helped that she explained why it would be beneficial to us to invest in your business.”

Stiles quirked his head, so Derek continued. “She mentioned to my sister how hard you guys worked and how dedicated you both were. When she explained that you worked so hard you tried sacrificing yourself to the subway gods, my sister pretty much knew then it would be worth it to invest in the guy her brother couldn’t shut up about. Congratulations” He finished with a smirk.

“The subway gods would be lucky to have me.” Was all Stiles could think to say after that information dump.

“Wait a minute,” Scott exclaimed from the bar, “What do you mean ‘congratulations’? How do you even know you want to help us, we didn’t even have the meeting yet!” Lydia smacked him in the back of the head.

“Idiot. That’s not how you sell yourself to the business industry. Have I taught you morons nothing about confidence and proving your worth?”

“Apparently not.” Erica supplied unhelpfully.

“Okay, I give up.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Surprise! You guys got the deal! Thanks to the Hales, you can now make your dreams a reality.”

“Did I miss something? I feel like I missed a lot of things. Scotty, buddy, help me out here.” Stiles said as Scott stepped up next to him. Scott just shrugged.

“My sister, Laura, was supposed to come today, not me. But she couldn’t make it. We already knew we were going to sign a deal with you guys. Turns out this is Laura’s favorite bar.”

“So how does Lydia know all this already?” Stiles asked.  
“We had a phone conference with her a few days ago.”

“I thought we were having a meeting now?” Stiles asked, confusion clear even though he couldn’t stop staring at Derek. Maybe he was confused because he was distracted. Certainly wouldn’t be a first.

“I’m actually here to take you to dinner.” Stiles eyes widened, “That is, if you’d like to go out with me?”

“Wha- Oh, my god. Are you serious? I mean- Yeah! Yes. Dinner, that is a thing we should do.” Stiles nodded emphatically.

“Stay away from the subway!” Scott called out as Stiles and Derek headed out of the bar. 

They managed to avoid the subway most of the night, however, it was the easiest and quickest way back to Derek’s apartment.

They gladly made the exception.


End file.
